


Flore Exitiale

by sp00kymama



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon Related, Character Death, During Canon, F/M, Graphic Description of Corpses, Non-Consensual Touching, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sephiroth (Compilation of FFVII) Being An Asshole, Sephiroth (Compilation of FFVII)-centric, Shinra Company
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22274992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp00kymama/pseuds/sp00kymama
Summary: "Sephiroth was tied to her soul in the profoundest of ways. How, she did not know. But she wanted to find out."What if Aerith’s cell was the one first opened - and what are his plans for her? Set during the Shinra HQ escape in the original game (slight AU, Aerith/Sephiroth)
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Sephiroth
Comments: 9
Kudos: 60





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Final Fantasy VII or its characters.  
> All feedback is appreciated!

Her eyes shot open.

Aerith yawned and sat up on the rigid cot, stretching and twisting to work out the spasms in her back, the result of an uncomfortable but much needed rest. Hours ago, she and her friends were set to be free from the maze of corruption that was the Shinra Headquarters, but somehow, the president had learned of their plans and had them taken prisoner – a second time within twenty-four hours for the auburn haired flower girl. She felt at times she were nothing more than some exotic creature, doomed to be locked in Shinra’s cage, her escapes fleeting and too far between. Sleep still fresh in her mind, she rubbed her heavy -lidded eyes with the backs of her hands, letting them slowly fall down the rest of her face.

No. The Planet wouldn’t allow that. Gods, she had never even been outside Midgar. She had a world to yet to see, a life yet to live, details about her ancestry yet to uncover. An unexplained, unknown purpose yet to serve. It lived, buried in her skin, swimming in her blood and she felt it, always, but never understood what it was, what it was saying. She begged the spirits to answer her prayer, but the only contact the Planet had given her lately was screams: an agonizing sound that chopped away at her heart like the sharpest of axes. Even her own mother’s voice had silenced, as she revealed to Cloud and Tifa, drowned out by the cries. As apologetic as her friends could possibly be to her plight, they didn’t understand; no one did, because _she_ was the last Cetra. And as the last Cetra, burdened and gifted to hear the very lifeblood of her world speak, she wondered what could she do to ease its suffering.

A heavy thought for such a young soul.

As the last remnants of sleep drifted away to further welcome in cognizance, her senses sharpened: something was different. Aerith could usually hear the guards chattering amongst themselves, their footsteps echo, their phones beep. Now there was only silence, which was perhaps the most foreboding sound of all in a place like this. She swung her legs onto the floor, her boots reverberating in the smallness of her cell. Previously, in her restrained boredom, she had counted the planks embedded in the floor ( _seven_ ), the black scratches littering the wall ( _twenty-six_ ), and the flickers the single bulb which hung above her cycled through ( _five, but pretty sporadic so maybe more, maybe less_ ) – nothing had changed since her short slumber.

Or had it?

On the top part of the doorframe, the light which had been red was now green. Aerith’s heart leapt with joy at the possibility of freedom, but joy was fleeting, and quickly replaced with a sense of unease about the nature of her impending escape. She peeked her head into the silent cellblock corridor ever so slightly, watchful for any Shinra employees lurking about _._ Only one potential enemy was in sight: a guard, presumably asleep or perhaps drunk, lay slumped in the corner farthest from her, and although he seemingly posed no threat, she had to be mindful of her actions as she was without Materia or weapon. She slinked further out, skirting along the wall to the cell door next to hers. “Cloud? Tifa?” she murmured, attempting to enter their cell. There was neither response nor any give from the mechanical door, and she scrunched her nose, her thoughts racing trying to decipher why her cell was the only one unlocked. Perhaps it was an error on one of the guards’ parts or a cruel joke done out of boredom by one of the Turks?

Freeing the others was appearing to be a feeble attempt, so she set her mind to work. If the cell door was locked, a keycard would be necessary to open it, and only Shinra employees would be carrying those. Aerith averted her eyes to the collapsed body in the far corner and weighed her options before cautiously creeping her way over to the figure. But the closer she came to the unconscious guard, the more troubled she became. And upon arriving in front of the Shinra worker, she realized why her senses were so distressed. She kneeled in front of him, rosy dress brushing against the red stained floor, hand in front of her mouth. 

Dead was a kind word to describe the guard. The body had several long cuts deep enough to reveal internal organs, coagulated crimson clinging to the remnants of flesh surrounding the slashes and adorning the walls, and the head held loosely to the torso by a few stray muscle strands. Even as a lifelong slum girl, she had never seen so much blood. It was enough to make an average person sick to their stomach, but Aerith was no average person. She was determined to search the body for a keycard, so she held her breath to block out the sickening smell from the corpse, fishing around the bloodied uniform to find what she sought. Her search ended quickly to no avail, and as she stepped back to create another plan, her boots squishing from the pooling liquid, a loud clang rattled her from her thoughts.

She swiftly turned her head to face the noise. Several feet down the long, narrow hallway connected to the cellblock corridor, stood a man armed with a blade, his back toward her, suspending a guard by the throat, a Shinra sanctioned gun at his feet. The victim was gasping for air and clawing at his attacker’s arm in one last futile attempt at survival, before suddenly going limp, his arms sinking to his sides. A nausea inducing gurgle sprung from the figures, and the man dropped the guard, his body sliced from neck to stomach. His reflexes were astounding: Aerith hadn’t even _seen_ him move the six foot plus sword he possessed, and she impulsively yelped in response, her voice betraying her presence to the man.

He slowly turned to face her, and she was taken aback, his appearance startling. His handsome features masqueraded a devilish soul only visible through his shadow laden eyes, a jade hellfire that burned into her. Long, silver hair swayed at his back as he casually kicked the guard’s corpse, making the body crash into the wall and crumple off to the side. He addressed her with a voice low and full of malice, “We meet again, Aerith.”

She donned her best confident stance and glowered, the man’s greeting catching her off guard. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

“Is this the gratitude you show to someone who has freed you?” he taunted, stepping over the gun towards her, “How insulting.”

“You never answered my question.”

“Neither did you.”

She huffed, exasperated at this stalemate. “Yes. It is. Now give me answers!”

He stopped his leisurely advancement a few feet from her, his impressive height and physique becoming more prevalent in his approach. “I’m even more insulted you don’t remember me. Or did you block that memory from your mind?”

She furrowed her brow and met his forceful gaze, at a loss for where she had ever encountered this man.

Until suddenly, it clicked in her mind: a recollection she had not revisited in quite some time. Trivial at the time, but now everything.

“I do recognize you from all those years ago…you’re the General… Sephiroth…” she worked out, her words staggered as if her breath had been expelled from her body by some invisible force. He was a legend, his exploits and war heroism unmatched. She had read five years ago of him being killed in action, but no public funeral was announced and no information on what battle he was mortally wounded in was ever released; to the public, there was an air of mystery and speculation surrounding his sudden passing. “You’re not dead?”

A stupid question on her part: obviously he was living and breathing in the flesh before her. But as she analyzed this man- a man who did indeed look identical to the famed General – she couldn’t help but get the sensation it was not the famous SOLIDER the world knew before.

He smiled, a cold, callous expression that sent a shiver straight down her spine. “No. Not even death could stop me, nor could your SOLDIER ‘friend’,” he tapped his chin in mocking thought and regarded her, awaiting a response to his slight. “What was his name?”

His words were an arrow to her heart. “Zack,” she whispered. The scarlet splattered walls seemed to move in a haze, his name a forgotten motion of her tongue. “Zack Fair.”

“It doesn’t matter what his name was. None of it matters now,” was Sephiroth’s biting reply. He ran a hand across the wall, black leather smearing red blood, turning his palm up to examine it. “This is all inconsequential.”

She winced, his words cutting deeper than any blade could. “It matters to me,” she quietly admitted, the silent tears making the emeralds of her eyes glisten. ”He always has mattered to me.”

“How touching.”

“What happened to you?” she clenched her fists and spat back, her fury rising and filling every ounce of her small frame. “Why are you doing this? Zack spoke so highly of you, everyone did! What made you become this, this,” her words came out of her faster than she could make sense of them, “this _monster_?”

She expected the man before her to become irritated, or perhaps even angry, or to at least show an ounce of human emotion. Instead he laughed, a blood chilling sound that filled the corridor. “I told you: it’s irrelevant. I have obtained a far deeper perspective and greater knowledge in my course through the Lifestream than even your ancestors did.”

“You know about my ancestors? About the Cetra?”

“I do. I know their histories, their migrations, their primordial magic. And I know they were fools to think they could defeat my mother,” he sneered, as he slowly sauntered over to her. “It’s no coincidence they met an early demise. Yet…” feline, Mako eyes bore into her, a predator observing its prey, as his fingers curled around his blade. “Here you are.”

Here she was: a defenseless little flower girl from the slums. Her ancestry certainly couldn’t save her now, not without her staff or magic infused Materia; the one she held in her hair bow was completely useless, a thought she inwardly scowled at. Her mind raced through the many possibilities of what he could do to her, all of which grimly ended with her demise. Again, she lamented, she had never even been outside the city walls, seen the vastness of the Planet which spoke to her, told her friends goodbye; now she was to die in the Shinra building of all places? No, she would not allow it.

But now was not the time to dwell on these things.

She was frozen in fear, but didn’t want to show it. Showing fear was a sign of weakness, and by Gaia, she could not show any weakness towards this madman. Whatever his motive was for eluding death and coming here, she was determined to stand her ground. “Here I am,” she broke the silence in a voice that sounded strangely confident even to her. “Let’s cut to the chase then. What do you want then? You clearly brought me out here alone for some reason.”

“You’re right, Aerith,” he hissed, her name an insult on his lips. “I do have a reason for bringing you and you alone out of your cell. Cloud’s time will come soon, for his ties run as deep to me as yours, but now,” his right hand extended from his side, embers beginning to form on his fingertips. “I want us to play a game.”

She instinctively took a few steps back, her gaze now locked to the growing flickers. “A-a game?” Her mask of self-confidence was slipping, and she knew he was aware she was defenseless. “What kind of game?”

The flames in Sephiroth’s hand swayed in their macabre dance before transforming into a full ball of fire, and he extended his blade to point to the rest of the corridor present behind him. Amber hues bounced off the walls, opposing the silvery hair that framed a deceivingly beguiling demon who spoke only one word:

“Run.”


	2. II

Her legs had become the fire which pursued her.

Aerith had been running for what seemed like hours through the winding halls and stairs of the massive Shinra headquarters. The duration of her running, however, didn’t matter at this time; it was the reason as to _why_ she was running. And that reason was to possibly save her life from a man who should be as dead as the dozens of employees that lay strewn around the upper floors of the complex _._ It was truly a massacre here: it seemed every time she turned a corner or climbed another flight of stairs, she was haunted by the sight of more corpses. And the _blood trail_. She had thought the cellblock butchery was repulsive, but that was tame after witnessing this level of carnage. It was almost comical in its morbidity, and as she ran, she pictured Cloud, Tifa, and herself laughing at Barret’s gruff commentary to make light of the situation.

Except she wasn’t laughing now.

She inhaled deeply, stagnant but welcoming air filling her burning lungs, as she made her way up yet another set of stairs. On the wall touching the stairs in thick black lettering read “68”, but she hardly noticed the number as she ascended, her focus on both her endless pursuit of safety and the ominous, always present trail of burgundy flowing along the floor. Her nose twitched at the musty smell of copper. It was for show, of course; she knew the path was present for a reason only _he_ knew but wanted her to discover. But her pursuer was nowhere to be seen, a fact that was more than unsettling. She whispered up a silent prayer to the Planet for some sort of eventual safety.

Exiting the 69th floor, she found herself in another Shinra stairwell entrance room with three doors, two clean and one bloodied. Her legs ached and her body screamed for rest; she was running out of strength, so she made the risky decision then and there to forge her own path. This was her choice, godsdamnit; she was not some moth doomed to only follow death’s flame. She hurriedly brushed the stray auburn strands from her face, tightened the ribbon in her hair, and rushed for the cleanest door closest to her.

Bolts of light flashed down as she neared the door, blocking her from getting any closer, and she let out a startled squeal as the sparks caught the edges of her rosy dress. She turned on heel to face the already known source of her terror. Sephiroth casually leaned against the stairwell entrance door, smirking as lightning sparked on his ebony clad fingertips. “That isn’t the path I’ve chosen for you, now is it?”

The sinking feeling in her stomach deepened, and she bit her lip. Her life was not hers to live at this moment; no, her life rested in the palm of _his_ hands, the flame. And she was indeed the moth. Emerald eyes darting towards her predestined path, she looked back to her predator once more before running for the door. A foreboding laugh echoed off the walls, as her shaking hands grabbed the crimson stained doorframe before exiting the stairwell onto the 70th floor.

More cadavers lay strewn across what looked to be an office floor, the body count rising as each floor she climbed. Computer filled desks flanked her sides, deep colored chairs toppled over in the chaos of the evening, and a half-moon shown through giant windows, illuminating the stairs ahead of her. She clutched her chest with a pale hand and caught her breath for a moment before scrambling up the steps. As she ascended, she heard his damned voice call to her, “Run little Cetra. Run just as your ancestors did before you. It didn’t help them, and it won’t help you.”

He was right, she knew, but she wasn’t going without a fight. She pressed on, reaching the top of the stairs and moving into the window encircled chamber. This was the largest area yet, the night sky cascading off the metallic, lavish furniture and sweeping across the maroon carpet that stretched into the center of the room. The very weary girl stumbled, catching herself on one of the several ivory posts clad with rich red curtains. She looked up ahead, her chest heaving and longing for respite, expecting to see another set of stairs or another office room adorned with bodies.

She did not, however, expect to see the president of the Shinra corporation dead on his desk.

Aerith put a hand to her mouth and gasped, “Oh my gods.” Indeed the very founder of the Shinra conglomerate was lifeless and face down on the back half of his desk, a pool of bright crimson spilling across the entirety of the rich mahogany surface; the blood of his company and his body departing his figure for good. “He’s dead…”

“Yes. Dead by my hand.” She spun around to see the president’s murderer, towering directly over her. Sephiroth gazed at his handiwork, his face a blank, emotionless slate. “A repulsive excuse for a man. You should have seen him beg for his life. He was a coward until the end.”

She took a step backward and shook her head, her eyes closed and hands pressed to temples. “Stop it, stop all of this!” Surely she had witnessed enough to satisfy his appetite. How much more was she to endure?

She felt his hand firmly grab her chin, the shock of soft leather meeting flesh compelling her to open her eyes. Frowning, he peered down at her and forcibly twisted her face towards the carnage behind her. “Don’t look away.”

Before she could close her eyes again, she felt her entire being go numb, then paralyzed. Stopaga magic may have frozen her body and gaze unwillingly onto the presidential slaughter, but the panic inside her was mobile as ever. Sephiroth removed his hand from Aerith’s chin and walked over to the Shinra leader’s body, walking in a way to ensure his prisoner’s line of vision remained unobstructed. She wondered in her unmoving state how he could enjoy this torment, how he could be capable of inflicting such pain upon another being, what truly had caused his descent into madness. He opened his left hand, and his infamous blade abruptly replaced the nothingness present in his palm. Eyes ablaze with a maddened, emerald inferno, he plunged his weapon into the president’s figure, a sickening squelch emanating in response.

If she could have shivered in disgust, she would have. He slowly released his hold on his weapon to leave it embedded in the carcass, his other hand waving off his time spell on the girl. Immediately upon release, she narrowed her brows and balled her fists, her fear now transformed into fiery rage. How dare he play with her mind like this? “Why are you doing this?!”

“I enjoy it,” he immediately hissed. “I enjoy seeing you suffer, breaking apart piece by piece.” A hypnotizing smirk twisted his mouth. He was searching her, her innermost thoughts with a stare as sharp as serrated steel, finding the right spot to inflict the maximum amount of damage. “You and soon your ‘bodyguard’.”

The last word came out a condescending stab in her ears. “Cloud?”

“Your hero is nowhere in sight,” he bragged, arms outstretched as if to remind her they were alone. “And even if he were to appear, I could cut him down with you to bear witness. But he won’t appear, now will he? It’s just you and I here,” his expression further darkened, “And our game has come to an end.”

Again, he was right: Cloud was not here. This was it. This was the end of everything. She was to die here alone - except for her murderer and the president’s rotting corpse - in the Shinra building she had tried so hard to escape her entire life. Her final, probably futile attempt at escape had to be now or never. She hugged her arms together and glanced over her shoulder to the stairs, quickly making up her mind to risk it: what had she to lose? She had no other options other than to fight, and that was suicide: he could kill her using one hand with little to no effort. The stairs were her salvation if she were to survive this night and so she turned on heel and darted towards them, peeking behind only to see what Sephiroth would do in response.

Except he wasn’t there.

And before she could process this fact, she ran into what felt like a wall.

Except it wasn’t a wall.

He moved faster than her senses could detect and suddenly her breath was restricted, his hand like a zolom on her throat. Forcing her back until her spine was touching the dead leader’s desk, his leathery grip never weakened, remaining loose enough only to allow what little air she needed for survival. She grabbed his arm and feebly tried to pry his grasp away from her, her other hand now gripping the desk in terror. Mere inches separated their bodies.

The predator had caught his prey. Her time was up.

“Go ahead,” she whimpered, water filled eyes meeting him with indignation. “Go ahead and kill me already! You had your fun, get it done with. Just make this stop.”

“No. That comes later. There are worse things than death,” he smiled, his fingers loosening to lightly caress her jaw. “Besides, isn’t this what you would have wanted once upon a time?”


	3. III

It was mid-afternoon when she got the call.

She had been expecting her phone to light up all morning, but when the midday sun had passed and she still hadn’t received any word from him, she had grown anxious. She kept her hands busy tending to the flowers while basking in the sun that shone through the holes in the church’s roof, but she couldn’t distract her mind. What if he didn’t call or what if something happened to him this time? No, she chastised herself, brushing away the flower petals which clung to her ivory dress and legs. He always had been true to his promises, and she smiled while softly touching the pink ribbon in her hair. He said he would always come back to her, and she believed him. She sighed deeply as she gazed to the shabby cart filled with flowers that sat by one of the lines of toppled pews.

A vibration startled her from her thoughts, and she couldn’t grab the phone from her dress pocket fast enough. She scrambled, nearly dropping the device. “Zack?”

“Hey, you,” the friendly voice was a song to her ears. “How goes it?”

“Better now that I hear your voice,” she said, her smile broadening. “Did everything go okay?”

“Oh yeah, nothing we couldn’t handle. Hey listen, are you at the church still?”

“Yes. How come?”

“We’re in the area, and I wanna stop by with someone I’d like you to meet. That is, if you’re okay with it, of course.”

She giggled. Zack Fair was a man so confident, so sure of himself, and yet she of all people could bring out his shy side. “I would be happy to meet them.”

“Great! We’ll be there in five.”

She dropped the phone back into her pocket. Whoever Zack wanted her to meet must have been a good friend of his; he wasn’t the type to introduce her into his SOLDIER world unless absolutely necessary. She always looked forward to his return from missions, even if he couldn’t divulge much information about his military endeavors, and to her, there was something ironic about such a carefree, sweet boy being a member of _Shinra’s_ army. She flattened her dress and wiped the dirt from her knees and face, but not before plucking two yellow flowers from the patch. She wanted to make a good first impression for his him.

The church door creaked open minutes later, making her heart flutter with anticipation. The dark haired SOLDIER peeked in, a giant smile on his handsome face upon seeing her by the garden. She returned the wave and look of affection before calling, “Come here!”

Zack pushed his way in and pranced over, his cheerful stride a reflection of his mood. “Did you miss me?”

“Of course, silly,” She skipped down the aisle to meet him halfway. “How could I not miss you?”

“Maybe you forgot about me,” he shrugged, Mako infused sapphire eyes glowing playfully. “You never know!”

“I could never forget about you, Zack,” she softly replied, her cheeks suddenly rosy as she handed him one of the flowers. “You’re everything to me.”

“Aw, geez, Aerith. You know you are to me, too.”

“I know.”

The couple locked in their affectionate gaze hardly heard the advancing footsteps. Zack was the one to notice the approaching figure, and broke the silence to motion them over. “But hey, I want to introduce you to someone. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Aerith, this is General Sephiroth. Sephiroth, this is my girlfriend, Aerith.”

Aerith looked up at the man who now stood before her. Yes, she had indeed heard of the renowned Sephiroth; who hadn’t? The news had hailed him as a war hero, his exploits and battles celebrated throughout Midgar. He was worshipped by young men and women alike, and she understood why now that he was there in the flesh: the fabled General was more of a marvel in person than on the television. She bit her lip and swallowed hard. She had never been one to lust after men upon seeing them; in fact, Aerith could count on one hand how many times in her life it had occurred. But there was something about his daunting presence and almost inhumanely striking features that had her stomach in knots.

She realized she had been staring at him for some time now, and he was most likely aware of it. He probably had this happen all the time, and Zack _was_ standing right there. She felt ridiculous, so composing herself, she extended a hand to him. “Nice to meet you.”

If he noticed her gawking, he didn’t show it. Sephiroth shook her hand, firm but gentle as if not to hurt her. “Likewise. Zack has told me a lot about you.”

“Oh has he?” Aerith teased looking over to her partner. “Only good things I hope?”

Zack gave a sheepish smile and rubbed his neck. “There are no bad things to tell, Aerith.”

Sephiroth peered over the girl towards the center of the church and raised an eyebrow. “You grow flowers here?”

“Yup,” Aerith nodded, clasping her hands behind her back. “This is the only place in all the slums where they grow. My mother always told me I could make a weed turn into a flower.”

“We’re going to sell them to everyone here in the slums!” chimed Zack, pointing to the flower cart. “We call it ‘Operation: Midgar Full of Flowers, Wallet Full of Money’!”

She blushed. “Zack, I don’t think he-“

“If anyone could do it,” Sephiroth interjected, his expression warm but resigned, “It appears it would be you.”

Aerith blinked and returned the smile. “Here, this is for you.” She thrust her hand forward to the General to offer the other flower she had picked. “I know they don’t grow in the city, so I thought it would be nice for you to have.”

Sephiroth accepted the flower, appearing grateful albeit a bit surprised, and nodded before he looked to Zack. “I need to be going. You’re on leave until 2100 tonight, but make sure you see Lazard first thing in the morning for the next mission briefing.”

“Yes, sir!” Zack saluted.

Sephiroth acknowledged the flower girl once more, tucking her gift behind the leather straps on his chest. “Again, nice to meet you, Aerith.”

“Likewise!” she replied, grinning as she imitated him.

He returned her gesture of friendliness with a half-smile before he departed.


	4. IV

“I saw the way you looked at me that day.”

She swallowed hard, staring frightfully into the two feline orbs that mocked her. She dug her fingers further into the desk’s edge, coagulated blood pushing into her nailbeds. So he did know. That day in the church between the three of them: her, Zack, Sephiroth: was an uncomfortable memory left untouched by her psyche for some time. She had cherished, perhaps even loved, Zack with all her heart; for her to be lusting after his superior was incredibly offensive of her.

Sephiroth released his hold on her to reach into his leathery coat, offering her what he removed from inside. Aerith gasped, her hands letting loose of the desk to clutch at her chest the single yellow flower he presented. “The flower…” Her eyes bore into the bloom, the recollection of the aforementioned encounter replaying fresh in her mind. The flower had naturally changed over time: what once radiated beauty was now decaying, its vivacity long gone. She looked up at the ex-General. “An omen?”

He blinked slowly and deliberately, and he would have been beautiful if he were not so cruel. “No. A promise.”

A promise. Of what, she did not know. Was she to be the flower? She shook her head, her face fierce to challenge him. “That was a long time ago. You were different. You hadn’t lost your mind!”

“And I still intrigue you, don’t I?” he leaned in and smiled. “Perhaps even more so.”

She could feel his breath against her face; slow, steady, eerily composed. His close proximity was unsettling and made it hard for her to think straight. She wanted to let out the strain from her body, to tremble, but she refused to give him the satisfaction.

“You want a taste,” he continued, voice heavy with seductive disdain, a melodic requiem in her ears. He plucked the flower from her fingers, too delicate an action for such a sadistic man, and gingerly placed it in her jacket breast pocket. She inhaled sharply, but was afraid to move, her form becoming more statuesque with every shift in his body. He continued his verbal assault, one hand locking her wrists together as the other found its home back at her jawline. “Your past lover was the only one you’ve ever been with, and you crave something new and unknown. Tell me I’m wrong, Aerith. I know I’m not the only one who senses a connection between us.”

She couldn’t respond.

He was trying to manipulate her, twist her memories and thoughts into something as impure as he: that much she was sure of. She could _not_ let him win this game. But, as much as her inner voice screamed to yell at him, tell him he was filled with lies and insanity, a smaller voice within her knew that then _she_ would be the one lying. Perhaps his notorious allure was what originally drew her to him in the past, but she couldn’t deny there was _something_ , some sort of twisted influence he exerted over her or some sort of fate that beckoned her towards him.

He chuckled. “Oh innocent, little Aerith. Your face betrays you. But don’t worry,” He ran a smooth, gloved thumb over her lips and brought his mouth down to hers, leaving a finger’s length of space between them. “I will give you that which you crave.”

His lips plunged into hers with feral intensity, a kiss much rougher and deeper than any she had before. Moving his hand with unhurried grace from her jaw to the root of her braid, his grip on both her wrists and hair tightened, and soon the space between them vanished, their bodies molded into one form. She was pressed firmly against him and the desk, and she felt the blood from the corpse behind her ooze onto the back of her dress. And yet she hardly cared. The strokes of his tongue and lips were calculated, rapid, filled with the most insatiable of hungers; she wanted so badly to hate it. Oh gods, she wanted to despise it with every fiber of her being. But there was something now, their mouths intertwined in the most passionate of dances, that made her understand they undeniably had a _connection_ , deeper than any she had before.

Sephiroth was tied to her soul in the profoundest of ways. How, she did not know. But she wanted to find out.

No, she needed to.

Aerith’s hands quivered in his grasp. She was caught in a paradox of emotions: she wanted desperately to relax and submit entirely to the man before her even though that seemed wrong on all accounts. He forcefully yanked his fistful of her hair down towards the desk, and she emitted a small yelp, her face now upwards. He dipped his head to her neck and teased her, planting forceful kisses on her delicate flesh, before ending with his tongue trailing upwards from her collarbone to her earlobe.

He hissed in her ear, “Give in to me.”

She realized her hands had finally stopped trembling and she had reached an unnatural, almost divine state of calm. She closed her eyes and breathed. Her body was submitting, an effortless consequence of some intrinsic harmony between them. The screams of the Planet had long since hushed: perhaps this was a sign? And who was she to deny what felt right in the innermost depths of her soul? Her mind paralyzed, her body humming and aching for more, an entranced Aerith slowly raised her free hand to Sephiroth’s chest.

Her fingertips had barely begun to graze his upper body, when she felt her skull make contact with the desk. Head pounding and ears ringing, she fell to the floor on her hands and knees, shaking from the severity of the collision. She touched her temple, and examined her hand with blurry, starry sight. Fresh blood dotted her fingers, and out of the corner of her weary eyes, she feebly noted both wrists were bruised from Sephiroth’s tight hold earlier. She further collapsed to the floor, arms and legs sprawled, her vision disoriented and seeing only shadows and two leathered boots.

He bent down on one knee before her as he lifted her head. “Next time I won’t be so gentle. And there will be a next time.”

And then there was only darkness.


	5. V

She was dreaming, but of what, she did not know – there was only a faint voice calling her name.

“Aerith, wake up! Aerith?”

She jolted awake, swinging herself upwards with such a start, confusion replacing terror as her mind grew conscious of the familiar companion beside her. “Tifa?” she whispered, staring hard at her friend as if to make sure she was real. She glanced around to assess her surroundings, her heart skipping a beat as she processed where she was.

She was back in the same Shinra prison chamber as before.

“Aerith, are you okay?” Tifa asked, concern etched on her pretty face as she knelt by the cot. “You look like you had a nightmare.”

Was she okay? It was a difficult question for her to answer. On one hand, Aerith had just endured both physical and mental trauma by the hands of a man who should be dead. On the other hand, she was back in the cell with her friend by her side – and she felt fine. Tifa hadn’t questioned her about any signs of abuse, and Aerith realized her head no longer throbbed. Was it all just a bad dream _?_ She decided to be discreet and not mention her –alleged –previous encounter.

“I’m…fine,” the flower girl weakly smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Really. Just a bad dream.”

Tifa nodded and her warm expression grew serious. “C’mon then. We gotta get out of here.”

Another realization hit Aerith as hard as her head had supposedly hit the desk. “How did you get in my cell?” her panic growing as she saw the green light above her cell door.

“There’s no time to explain,” Tifa rose and hurriedly made for the chamber’s exit. “You’ll see when we leave. Cloud and the others are outside waiting.”

With her friend gone, Aerith quickly began her investigation, starting with her palms and wrists. No blood stained her hands and her wrist was bruise-free. She touched her temple to confirm there was no wound, and felt nothing out of the ordinary: no cut, no blood, and still no headache. Aerith grabbed the back of her dress and pulled the fabric around to examine it. If her nightmare did was real, there would be blood on the tail ends from where it had pressed against the desk. With tension heavy in her shoulders, she searched, relaxing as she quickly discovered there were indeed no red stains.

She stood and breathed a sigh of relief, taking a few steps towards the door. It was only a dream _._ It must have been; there was no other option. It was a bizarre dream that brought many questions and old memories into her mind, but a dream nonetheless. If it had truly transpired, surely there would be some sort of sign on her body linking her to the event, but there was nothing, so she could finally move on…right _?_

The prison cell light flickered off and on above her, its sequence as predictable as before, as Aerith stood near the exit and stared at the green light illuminated above the doorway. None of this explained why or how Tifa had gained access to her cell. Anxiety crept up her spine, and she hesitated leaving the room, a far cry from what she wanted hours ago. It was just a dream, she repeated to herself as she forced her legs to move.

Right?

White walls stained with red greeted her as she joined her friends to gather around an all-too familiar sight; for there in the corner, sat a slumped figure. Cloud kneeled by the body to examine it as the others stood a few feet back, as frightened as she had been the first time she saw the scene.

“That’s kinda eerie,” Tifa gulped, hand pressed to mouth.

It wasn’t a dream. Her encounter with Sephiroth had indeed happened, and by some strange, sick twist of bad luck, she was forced to replay most, if not all, of it all over again. “Must have been attacked by…” she mumbled, low enough so only she could hear. Could the others see her worry or were they too distracted by their own fear to notice?

Barret waved his hands, frustration evident, as he roared, “The hell’s goin’ on?”

“No human could have done this,” Nanaki shook his head. He turned his fiery maned head towards the hallway and sighed before taking off, “I’ll go on ahead.”

Aerith hardly heard him, her thoughts lingering on her privy knowledge and seemingly unending questions. How much would she have to bear again? Were her friends, was _Cloud_ , destined to stand idly by, unable to help her? Why did Sephiroth want her to go through this whole sequence again when he could have lead everyone to her in the president’s office? The questions raged on her head like an inextinguishable fire, the same fire that burned in her body when he had her against the desk of the president – who she _knew_ was going to be dead when they followed the inevitable trail of blood Sephiroth left. Their ties were deep as he earlier claimed, and she needed to find answers as to why. And then there was his gift…

The others were distracted, their focus remaining on the gruesome corpse before them. With a shaking hand, Aerith reached into the breast pocket of her jacket and pulled out one wilted, yellow flower. She quickly pushed it back into her jacket and exhaled deeply.

A promise.

Barret turned towards the others and motioned them down the hall, “I’ll clean up back here, so you guys go on ahead. And don’t get caught by the Shinra!”

Tifa nodded, and flashed a determined glance towards Cloud and Aerith before running after their beastly companion. “Come on, let’s follow Nanaki!”

Cloud returned the nod and ran after her, Aerith following suit. She vowed not to tell her friends her plight: she didn’t want to worry them any more than necessary, and something told her that they would be more worried now than ever before. At least she was, because as Aerith ran down the hallway through the Shinra building, touching where the flower rested against her chest, all she could hear was his voice:

“And there will be a next time.”


End file.
